The Philanthropist's Danse by Paul Wornham Read Free Book Online

to run every morning, although he preferred actual roads to indoor machines. The weather made running outside impossible, so he closed his mind to the suffocating walls and drifted into his routine, concerned only with the rhythm of his strides and the evenness of his breathing.
    Philip watched MacLean run. He had excellent form for an old guy. Larry kept in shape because it helped him keep up with the younger women he loved to love. Thurwell’s youngest son grabbed a towel from the corner rack and began stretching. His back was to MacLean, but he was able to watch him reflected in the mirror that covered an entire wall of the gym. Philip ran through his warm-up, hopped on the bike and accelerated to a comfortable speed. He and MacLean faced each other as they exercised.
    “Why’d he do it, Larry? Why die alone and not call us?” It was the question that bothered Philip most. He couldn’t imagine his father not wanting his family around him when he was dying. It was out of character. Philip might have understood if his father had only called Bethany and left his sons out, but he hadn’t even called for her.
    “Son, the same question bothers me. I knew your father all his life, and for him to die without a word just seems wrong.”
    Philip nodded, wrong was the right word. It was all wrong. “This meeting, getting us all here at the mansion, does that seem normal to you? I don’t know half the people we saw last night.” Philip’s legs pumped as the bike’s program simulated a hill and he started to sweat.
    MacLean looked at Philip with sympathy. The boy reminded him of himself in younger, wilder days. “Philip, I wish I had answers for you. But face it, we’re in the dark here, only Bill Bird has the answers, and I’m not sure even he has all of them.”
    He saw a shadow cross Philip’s face at the mention of Bird. Philip was silent as he rode the bike hard, and sweat rolled freely down his face. Larry looked more closely and saw there was more than just sweat on Philip’s face. He was crying with his eyes clamped tight shut.
    MacLean slowed his run to a walk and wiped his face with a towel. He stepped off the machine and drew an icy drink from the water cooler. He walked to the bike and put his hand on Philip’s back. “It’s alright, I understand.”
    “Fuck you Larry, it’s not alright. It’s not even close to being alright, and you know it.” Larry stood next to Philip as the young man slowed his pace and racking sobs escaped him. He crumpled, and his forehead rested on the handlebars as his shoulders shook. “Be a sport and fuck off Larry. I’d like to think you weren’t seeing this.”
    MacLean patted Philip on the back and left, he understood the anger in the boy was not meant for him, but his dead father. Larry looked back, Philip was still slumped on the bike but the thick glass suppressed the heart-rending sound of his sobs. MacLean headed upstairs and almost bumped into a large black figure coming down. They stopped, each surprised by the other.
    “Good Morning, Mr.?”
    “MacLean, Larry MacLean. You’re the Judge, if I recall correctly?” The two men shook hands. “You were headed for the gym, Judge?”
    “Yes, I like to keep my routine if I can. I thought it was this way?” Larry didn’t like the idea of Philip being discovered in his grief. “Yeah, it is, but it’d be better if you skipped this morning.” Larry put his hand on the large man’s shoulder conspiratorially. “One of Mr. Thurwell’s sons is in there, and he needs some… time.” He looked into the Judge’s eyes and tried to convey his meaning but needn’t have worried, the man caught his intent.
    “I guess I can skip this morning, maybe eat one fewer pieces of toast at breakfast.” He smiled and turned to head up the stairs with Larry, who was grateful for the Judge’s gentlemanly acceptance of his request. “So, Larry, how did you know Mr. Thurwell?”
    MacLean stopped in his tracks. Philip was right,